


Dulce Periculum

by simmons_ml



Series: my capxthomas hell hole [1]
Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Canon Gay Character, Coming Out, Eventual Romance, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Gay, LGBTQ Character, Lord Byron is mentioned, M/M, My First Fanfic, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Pride, Romance, SO GAY, bi!thomas, did I mention that it's gay?, sort of slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-05-19 00:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19345450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simmons_ml/pseuds/simmons_ml
Summary: After seeing something on TV, the ghosts are left a little confused, but the Captain has never felt more relieved.  However, after a midnight conversation with Button House's resident poet, he's started to see a different side to Thomas that he never noticed before.





	1. Foregone Ventures

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's a tad cheesy. This was just really self-indulgent :)

Of course, they couldn't have a normal night without the ghosts intruding in their personal space. Mike and Alison had tucked themselves away into the sofa and wrapped a blanket around themselves, the TV glowing as they watched.

"Hello!"

Alison turned her head to see Kitty poking through the door.  
   "Hello, Kitty."  
   "Is there a ghost there?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow, to which Alison nodded.  
   "You can come in if you want, we're just watching TV," she addressed the ghost, but as soon as she had said that, Kitty ducked back and gave a shout of, "She said we can come in!". Immediately, a train of loud spirits entered their formerly relaxing space. Alison groaned in annoyance as the TV was drowned out.  
   "Right, if all of you are going to be in here, you better be quiet!"  
   Mike looked around and asked, "Are they all here? Like, all of them?" and Alison confirmed it.  
   "Apart from the ones in the cellar," she added.

The ghosts all took up positions on the sofa, some sitting, some leaning and some standing.  
   "What does you watches on the magic window?" Mary inquired.  
   "Well, it's about doctors working in a hospital," Alison tried to explain as simply as possible, "But lots of different problems happen that create drama and suspense."  
   "Like last week when one of the characters was almost poisoned," Mike chipped in and the spirits made little "ah" noises to denote they understood the plot. So, they went on, watching in silence with the occasional murmur or question.

Then, Alison bit her lip as two characters came on screen. Two characters she _knew_ were going to have some sort of romantic interaction. Two characters which were both _male_. She could already imagine the multitude of questions that was going to be asked from her spectral friends.

Of course, as fate would have it, there was a kissing scene, and then came the flood of queries.

"Two men? Alison why are there two men-"  
"Alison, I don't quite understand what happened-"  
"This is outrageous!"  
"Alison, is that legal?"

"Enough! One at a time!" Alison shouted. "Right, you first, Mary."  
   "Can two men really be together?"  
   "Yes, and so can two women. Next question."  
   "I don't really understand..."  
   "That's okay, Kitty, but all you need to know is that boys can like boys and girls can like girls."  
   "I know and I think that's fine, but I meant that I don't understand the plot."  
   "Well, I'll explain later. Next?"  
   "Why on earth would they show such indecency to the entire nation of Britain?"  
   "Fanny, I know that you're probably still worked up about your husband, but you need to let it go. Love is love, ok? Captain, you had a question?"

  
The usually seemingly brave Captain had never looked so timid and shy before. His stare was divided between the television and Alison's face.  
   "So... It's legal now... To be a homosexual?" he asked, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the black swagger stick. Alison nodded.  
   "Of course. Anyone should be able to love who they want."  
  
A brief smile flickered across the Captain's face, but was quickly hidden again. Not enough however to escape Alison's eyes.  
   "Anyone else?" she then asked, and received an answer of shaking heads.  
   "Brilliant, now can we please watch in peace?"

An hour or two had passed since the incident and the Captain was still rather bewildered. Legal? It was legal? All those years hiding, pretending to be someone he's not, when it was going to become legal?  
   He soon spotted Alison walking down the corridor towards her bedroom and speed-walked towards her, quietly calling her name. She spun around to face him and grinned tiredly.  
   "Hi, Cap, everything alright-"  
   "Shh!" he hushed, pressing a finger to his lips, "Keep it down, will you? I don't want anyone else to hear."  
   She raised an eyebrow then lowered her voice to a whisper.  
   "Okay... What's wrong?"  
   "How did it happen?" he asked, a desperateness in his eyes. Alison was confused for a second but then realisation hit her.  
   "Oh, you mean gay rights?" she queried and he nodded eagerly.  
   "Well, it didn't happen peacefully, I don't think," was the explanation, "There were riots and people went through hell, but they made it in the end. Of course, some people still disagree with it, but the majority are open-minded, if that answers your question."  
   The Captain opened his mouth to say something, but the words vanished and a smile emerged. Instead he just inclined his head.  
   "Thank you, Alison. I'll be on my way now-"  
   "Captain?"  
  
He spun back around to face her.  
   "I don't mean to intrude or anything, and you don't have to tell me but... Are you gay?"  
He hesitated for a moment and then replied, "Yes, it seems that I am rather," before sighing and walking to his quarters.

On his stroll back, the Captain felt a sort of confidence he never had before. He even supposed he could call it pride. His face flickered between stupid grinning and happy bewilderment. It was okay. It was all okay. At first he contemplated telling the other ghosts, but thought he might keep it to himself for the moment and have this feeling to himself.  
   A solemn sigh resounded, and the Captain stopped in his tracks. It came from a nearby room, so he edged slowly towards the door.  
   "Hello?" he called out, as he slowly went through it, "Who's there? I demand you show yourself and- Oh, Thorne, it's just you..."  
  
The poet was seated by the window of this room, staring out onto the moonlit grounds. He turned his head to face the Captain, half-shrouded in shadow.  
   "Why, Captain, to what honour do I owe this intrusion of privacy?" he asked sarcastically and the Captain scowled a little.  
   "What, am I not allowed to check on the well-being of my friends?"  
   Thomas scoffed. "Friends? If we were truly your friends, you would not regard us as if we were a troop to follow your commandments!"  
   The Captain faltered at Thomas' remark.  
   "Well... Well, I suppose it's just what I'm accustomed to," he replied, in some attempt to justify his actions.  
   They stayed in silence for a moment before the Captain started up again.  
   "Don't you think it's lovely? What Alison told us."

Thomas lifted his head and seemingly snapped out of whatever trance he'd been in.  
   "Hmm? Oh, yes, indeed," he agreed, absent-minded, "It is comforting to know that foregone ventures of mine would be accepted in this contemporary society."  
   The Captain's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, did I mishear you?"  
  
Thomas shook his head.  
   "No, but I would rather not speak of my past inamorato," he winced, gently putting a hand up to touch his fatal wound. The Captain bit his lip and decided not to ask any more questions of Thomas. Well, maybe one more wouldn't hurt...  
   "But, you're ridiculously in love with Alison, how can you-"  
   "My heart has been enamored by the likes of both duchesses and... lords," the poet interrupted, although there seemed to be a hint of resentment in the last word, "Now, if you would not mind, Captain, I should like to be left to my sorrows. I bid you goodnight."  
   He knew when he wasn't wanted, so the Captain mumbled a goodnight in return, before leaving the room.

That had been, from his perspective, rather odd. Never in his life (or death, he supposed) would he have pegged the dramatic Thomas, someone he had perceived as a philanderer, to be attracted to both women _and_ men. Just for a second, he contemplated whether Thomas found him attractive or not, but decided it was best not to dwell on such thoughts. Besides, no one but Alison knew of his clandestine preferences. It was better that way, he thought. The last thing he wanted was the other ghosts knowing every detail of his life.

 

**********

 

The last thing Thomas wanted was the other ghosts knowing every detail of his life. He well and truly could not believe he'd told the Captain of such a private matter. He had just found himself so distracted by his thoughts, so Thomas came to the conclusion he had accidentally let it slip, as he couldn't think of any other reason why he'd tell that little detail.

Morning had broken and the ghosts had all gathered themselves, per usual, in the common room. They went about daily business: Pat running the informative talks, Julian and Robin playing chess. Thomas had perched himself on the arm of the sofa as they listened to Mary give a demonstration on how to pick the best onions, but his mind drifted as Alison entered the room. He watched her intently, as she came into to grab some papers from the coffee table and then made her way out again. His fellows had started clapping halfheartedly, so he assumed Mary had finished her presentation. Carefully, he removed himself from the room, after Alison.  
   She was half-way down the corridor when he called out, "Oh, fair Alison, how you do make this tender morning seem more full of life-"  
   "Naff off, Thomas," she turned around to look at him, before continuing her walk, but he was intent not to let her slip his sight.  
   "Oh, how you spurn me!" he cried, raising the back of his hand to his brow, "Most beauteous gentlewoman, I pray you tell me why! In my time, there was ne'er a lady who would not yearn for my puissant loins-"  
   "I really do not want to hear about your loins, Thomas!"  
   He huffed, and his eyebrows knitted slightly.  
   "You may say so, oh radiant one that you are, but I think we both know it to be true that you share my benevolent affections!"

With a tremendous sigh, she spun on her heel to face him and crossed her arms, the paperwork clutched tight in her fist.  
   "And what makes you think that?"  
   "Well, you address me as Thomas, do you not?"  
   She raised an eyebrow.  
   "So? Everyone calls you that."  
   "First names are reserved only for the closest friends and courtship. I have known the others for a very long time, but you, my dearest Alison, I have barely acquainted with."  
   She made a sort of "o" shape with her mouth and, to Thomas' disbelief, she began to laugh.  
   "My lady, what is so humorous?"  
   She shook her head and bit her cheek.  
   "I'm so sorry, but I think there's been a misunderstanding. See, I never meant to court you, if that's what you're calling it. It's just a mistake brought about by coming from different periods. I really didn't mean to lead you on like that."

Thomas paused and dipped his head.  
   "So, this desire that rages through my veins... You mean to say that this passion was never... reciprocated?"  
   Alison shook her head and shrugged. "Sorry, really am, but you never know, some beautiful, posh lady might die here one day. So, um, best of luck I guess."

She went to pat him on the shoulder, but then withdrew her hand, remembering she couldn't actually touch him and sucked in a breath before walking off to find Mike, leaving Thomas alone in the empty corridor.

With the most brooding expression he could muster, he made his way back to his friends and placed himself upon the sofa as if he had never left. No one seemed to notice his newfound woe, nor the fact that he'd even left, so he sniffed loudly and grew an even more sullen face.  
   "So, if no one else has anything to say-"  
   "I do!" Thomas cried, interrupting Pat's sentence and rising smartly, and then made his way to stand before the other ghosts. He corrected his posture and then, in his most forlorn voice whimpered, "It does seem that comely Alison does not ache for me in equal measure."  
   There were multiple groans, before Kitty piped up, "She's married, Thomas! What did you expect?"  
   He stifled an answer as he saw the weary faces of those around him.  
   "I suppose..." he began, eyes darting about the room, as if he was going to spot his answer painted in big red letters, "...that I may have wished for more than what was... attainable."  
   "Indeed you did!" Fanny remarked, sticking her nose in the air, "You men, never able constrain your desires!"

With not as much as a word of sympathy, the other deceased residents of Button House, eventually filed out of the room, and once again, he was left stranded with his own despair.

He laid himself upon the sofa a sighed, since it was something he found himself very good at, before he heard a slight cough and sat up. The Captain stood in the doorway, hands behind his back.  
   "Are you alright?"

Thomas sniffled and leaned back into the cushions.  
   "Why would you care?" he retorted, and the soldier came and sat beside him.  
   "Well, we can't defeat the Germans with that spirit," the Captain nudged him and offered a smile, but it quickly left his lips as he saw it was not returned.  
   "Now, don't be so upset. I understand your pains," he said, in some attempt to comfort him, "In my life, there were many, uh, women which I could not have."

Technically he wasn't lying, if just one of those words was changed.

Thomas raised an eyebrow, and his lips curved upwards slightly.  
   "My, I never anticipated you as the romantic type," he marvelled, amusement dancing through his features.  
   "I'm sure there's a lot you wouldn't anticipate," the Captain commented. He then took a stand and looked to his woebegone comrade before saying, "I'll be around if you need me," and exiting in his orderly fashion.

Thomas smiled. Maybe the Captain wasn't so war-driven after all.


	2. In Poetic Likeness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Thomas searches for poetic inspiration, the Captain shows Alison and Mike a profitable discovery.

It had been a few weeks since, and Thomas supposed he should spend less time on trying to win Alison's heart and more on actually writing some substantial poetry. Day and night, he'd wandered the grounds in search of inspiration. He needed a muse.  
   When the night fell, he would rest at a window seat and try to come up with odes to the moonlight, or when the mornings were fresh, he would stroll through the gardens and compose ballads to the roses or sonnets to the nesting birds.

Alas, he needed his stimulus to be something more riveting than an innocent flower or the humble bee. No, he needed, he _wanted_ , something so compelling and intriguing that even philistines would be drawn into his words. Maybe, he wondered, he needed his incentive to be something with a lot of history, or something with a most gripping tale of life, love and loss...

That was when the spark ignited in his mind.

"Pray tell, Robin," he asked the caveman one day, as they sat in the common room, "You have been here longer than any of us, what are some of the most fascinating things you've seen?"  
   Robin scrunched up his face in deep thought, before his eyes brightened.

It only took a few minutes for Thomas to give up in trying to fathom what Robin had been saying and make it intelligible. Next, he sought out Mary, but she had little to tell. Kitty told him some stories from when she was alive, but her excitable nature made the very mundane seem like a daring quest and Thomas would rather drown himself in the lake than hear another one of Julian's concupiscent exploits. He found Pat's anecdotes rather too quaint for his liking and Fanny just dragged on about the history of the Button family. Humphrey's head was nowhere to be found, and Thomas even got so desperate, he went down the visit the plague victims.

Yet, his muse was nowhere to be found.

Thomas ambled through the gardens, pondering if he should find a spur for his creativity there. The air was crisp and light (not that he could really feel it) and birdsong clung to the breeze, and he sighed in discontent, for certainly nature should've been inspiring, especially for the poets of his time.

He made his way around one of the hedges but quickly stopped in his tracks as he saw the Captain sitting on a backless stone bench, enjoying the brisk sunshine. He didn't seem to be doing anything in particular and instead just seemed to be absorbed in his thoughts.  
   Thomas hung back and stepped behind a large potted plant, and watched through the gaps in the leaves. Nothing particularly interesting was happening but he noticed how the sunlight fell upon the soldier's face, making his more angular features prominent, and how his eyes appeared to ease, to soften.

It was in this moment, Thomas knew. What he knew, he did not know that he knew yet, as the inkling had just rooted itself in his mind, still dust-coated and unheard of.

He decided to leave the Captain to his merriment and return to the house. Besides, the threads of inspiration were starting to weave together.

 

**********

 

" _Ne'er I saw a gentler face, nor a hardened brow..._ No, no that simply won't do!"

" _Though mortal pleasures were forsook..._ Maybe not..."

" _My gaze fell upon a goodly soul..._ Oh, this is utter bollocks!"

Thomas slumped back into the window seat after his irritating pacing around the library. He sighed pitifully and rubbed his fingers into his temples. If only he could physically write, then it would been so much easier to compose his eloquent masterpiece.  
   The sky was a classic English grey now, so empty and lifeless as rain dribbled down the glass, and a distant conversation flooded his memories.

_"I'm heading to London this afternoon."_

_"What, in this weather?"_

_"I shan't be gone long, Thomas. Just a few days."_

_"And why was I not informed of this earlier?"_

_"I only just received the letter, my sweeting."_

_"Parliament again?"_

_"Yes, quite. Well, I should hope you'll have written me a most mellifluous melody upon my return."_

He remembered the black carriage that whisked his love away to London, remembered sitting at the piano and composing a beautiful tune, remembered waiting for _months_ instead of those promised few days...

Thomas closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again, banishing the memories with all the spite he could muster. Sometimes the past was better left buried six feet under with the rest of you.

 

**********

 

His pleasant stroll on the grounds had been rudely interrupted by a sudden downpour, so the Captain retired to his quarters for the day, but on his way, decided to take a short detour.

There was a small room in the East Wing, which had it's door half-covered by a bookshelf, and occasionally, the Captain would spend some time there, since not many other people cared to visit the space. It's walls were a deep scarlet, making the room seem much smaller than it already was, while a mahogany desk sat beneath the little window, which was all fogged up by dirt. The desk was littered with parchments and trinkets from ages long gone, and the rest of the room was filled with paintings of all sizes, propped up against each other and covered in sheets and dust.

He often visited this dull area to gaze at a picture on the desk of a group of young men in army attire. These men, however, were distinctly from World War One, unlike the Captain, but he still felt somewhat connected to them. It was a strange feeling he could not really explain.  
   Now, he stood there, looking at the black-and-white photograph in it's clunky metal frame, but a new thought dawned on him and he quickly left the room.

"Where are you taking me?" Alison asked, as the Captain urged her along. He just shook his head.  
   "You'll see."  
   They finally arrived at the half-obscured door, which he pointed at and said, "Behind here is a collection of art which I am positive will fetch quite a lot of money."  
   Naturally, Alison's eyes widened at the idea.

Within a few minutes, she'd called up Mike and he'd pushed the bookshelf out of the way, with the Captain watching eagerly. They opened the door and both went into a slight coughing fit at the amount of dust which had collected. They gaped at the treasure trove.  
   "Right," Mike started, clapping his hands together, "Let's see what we have, shall we?"

First they pulled the cover off a landscape painting, dust particles shooting up into the air. Then Alison picked up an oval portrait of a deathly-pale young girl clutching a rag-doll, which all three agreed would be better off burnt. Next they found some faded plans of Button House, with the paper having turned a musty yellow with time. The Captain pointed out a pretty little oil painting of a fluffy white Persian cat, which Alison immediately wanted to keep.  
   They had cleared out at least 30 odd paintings which had been sorted into the 2 piles of sell and keep (and it was safe to say that more were to be sold than not).  
   As Alison scrolled through her phone to try and find some buyers with historical interests, Mike was clearing out the last few, being closely followed by the Captain, whose presence he was only slightly aware of.

One last painting stood, still covered by a white sheet. It was larger than the rest, just a little bit below Mike's height, and a golden frame could be seen poking out the bottom.  
   Mike reached a hand out and swiftly pulled the cover away. The Captain almost choked.

It was a portrait, in rich hues of navy and indigo, of a slender young man, whose face was glancing slightly to his left and delicately thin limbs dressed in the Regency style, a dark blue coat cut away at the front with embellished golden buttons. The pointed face was framed perfectly with thick curled hair and two tawny eyes seemed occupied on long-forgotten thoughts.  
   All in all, he was stunning.

The Captain just about caught his breath as Mike took a step back and called, "Alison! Look at this!"  
   She poked her head around the door and and let out an audible gasp.  
   "Wow..." she breathed, as she stepped into the room, but the Captain just couldn't contain himself.  
   "Never in my life or in my death have I seen such a beautiful face... Just look at him! I say, if he were real, I would most certainly-"  
   "Wait, isn't that Thomas?"

Mike spun to face her.  
   "Who's Thomas? One of the ghosts?"  
   "Yeah, the poet one," she replied, but the Captain was shaking his head in disagreement.  
   "Alison, that cannot be Thomas, I would _know_ if it was him. Besides, this man is far too handsome-"  
   "Sorry, Cap, but that is almost definitely him," she interrupted again, folding her arms across her chest. Mike raised an eyebrow.  
   "What did the ghost say?"  
   "He said he doesn't believe it's our spectral poet friend," Alison rephrased to her husband, and then with a cheeky grin said, "I think the Captain fancies his portrait and now doesn't want to admit it since it's of his friend."  
   The Captain opened his mouth to protest but found no words. Mike chuckled, "Romance from beyond the grave, huh?"

The Captain had enough.  
   "I don't know what the two of you are trying to insinuate but that there is _not_ Thomas Thorne and I am not _fancying_ anyone! Am I not allowed to admire what I think is a wonderful work of art? Honestly, you two are the most-"  
   "Look," Mike beckoned as he checked behind the portrait, "There's handwriting that says, _My dearest Thomas, Happy Birthday, yours eternally, Lord George Byron_..."

The couple looked at each other in total astonishment.  
   "You mean... The _actual_ Lord Byron?" Alison asked, not quite believing it, and Mike nodded.  
   "I mean, that's what it says... And it proves the Captain wrong, it is poet guy."

Alison looked over at the Captain, who seemed to be doing some sort of calculations in his head, and smirked.  
   "So, looks like someone's in love with Thomas."  
   "I am not!" the Captain erupted, "The nerve of you to even suggest that! In fact, I'm leaving, I will not tolerate this... this... this... This insolence!"  
   With a final grumble, he turned sharply on his heel and orderly made his way out, but not before coming back a few seconds later to add, "Oh, and could you please put that Great War photograph in my room? Thank you."  
   Then, he exited for good.

Alison sighed and shook her head while explaining to Mike how the soldier had just had some sort of gay crisis over one of the other ghosts.  
   "I don't think he realised I was just teasing," she supposed, returning her gaze to the painting, "I mean, anyone can see it's amazing and Thomas is actually a good looking guy."  
   She then scrunched her face up.  
   "Ugh, I can't believe I just admitted he's handsome."

Mike rubbed off a bit of dirt which had settled on the frame.  
   "How much do you think this is worth?" he asked. Alison started to think, but then stopped herself abruptly.  
   "Wait, we should ask Thomas if he wants to keep it first. I mean, it does technically belong to him and the ghosts can get emotionally attached to things from when they were alive. It's better that we ask, he probably hasn't seen it ages and will want to keep it."

Thomas did not want to keep it. When Alison approached him with the question and showed him the artwork, he yelled about how he would rather rot in hell for all eternity than set eyes on that painting ever again.  
   So, within a month, the Coopers had collected about £5000 for the collection, and then an extra £6000 for the portrait of Thomas alone, which had gone to some project on the life of Lord Byron.

The Captain, however, still seemed to be confused by the entire ordeal. Certainly, he didn't think of Real-Thomas in the same way he had thought of Portrait-Thomas, did he? Slowly, the Captain could feel his sanity slipping.  
   Portrait-Thomas was serene and poised, Real-Thomas was dramatic and a mess. It was hard for him to imagine a young Thomas posing in that gorgeous shade of blue for such a graceful work of art, which would capture his fascinated personality perfectly, each dark gentle curl on his head, his long limbs...  
   He bolted upright in his bed. The last thing he wanted was to develop feelings for a man that would occasionally drive him insane with persistent endeavours of love for a married woman.  
   So, he lay back down again and looked across at the photograph he loved, which Alison had so kindly placed in the Captain's room, upon the side table. Although he didn't know who any of the men were, he still held them dear, as they were kindred souls to his own, and there's no harm in finding comfort for yourself, which is precisely what the Captain was struggling to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for all the hits and kudos, it means so much to me for my first fanfiction on this website!


	3. Yuletide Reminiscing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost Christmas at Button House and the ghosts are excited to celebrate the festive season, but as they each reminisce about the past, Thomas is left feeling uneasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was challenging to write and I kept getting stuck, therefore spent a lot of time on it, so I really hope you all enjoy it!

Days turned into weeks, which rolled into months, and soon November had frozen stiff and hardened into December.

The festive spirit was well and truly about, and one could feel it in the air at any given time.  
   Mike surprised Alison with a real tree, and they spent an entire day decorating it, with artistic input from all the ghosts, obviously. They even let Robin do the honour of lighting it up, which was met with cheers and a round of applause. The rest of the house was aptly decorated too, with the occasional tinsel wrapped around the banisters and mistletoe in odd places.  
   This was also the time of year when Mike got out his ugly Christmas jumpers, which Alison would heavily cringe at, meaning that he'd try to make them progressively worse each year. He never seemed to fail.

Fanny remarked how Button House hadn't seemed so cheerful in years, a comment which was met with only agreement from her other-worldly companions.

It was about midday when the ghosts had all gathered together in the common room, taking up their usual positions.  
   After Mary finished her explanation on the best natural fertilisers, Pat stood and introduced a new idea.  
   "Well, everyone," he began, "Since Christmas is approaching, I thought that it might be a nice idea for us all to share some festive memories!"  
   There was a mumble of consensus between the spectres, before Kitty shot her hand up with a slight gasp, saying, "Oh, I'll go first! One Christmas, I was given a pineapple for the first time! It was very exciting!"

So therefore, each ghost told his or her own narrative of a memory ranging from the utterly incomprehensible ("Bear went _RARGHHH_  but I go _HRUUGHH_  and then bear is blanket for me!" "That's nice Robin, but that doesn't really have anything to do with Christmas...") to the downright disgusting ("Now you'd be surprised but the Minister of Agriculture actually threw an amazing party one Christmas, where we tried this thing called a Turkish Triskelion. Now, it requires three people and a _lot_ of gravy...").

Thomas, however, had not been paying much attention. He was sat at the piano that resided in the room, but when he reached out a hand to touch his beloved instrument, it passed straight through and he groaned quietly in frustration. How he wished to play a delightful Yuletide song for his housemates! Regrettably, all he could do was stare.  
   "Thorne?"

A martial voice broke his thoughts and he turned his head to look at the Captain, who was sat with the other ghosts.  
   "Won't you share?" he asked, though his tone seemed softer this time. Thomas wondered if it was perhaps the festive spirit.

The poet rose from the piano stool, shrugged his shoulders and, with a flourish of his arms, began, "Well, I know not what to tell you. I have spent many a Christmas surrounded by friends and family... Although, I suppose there was one Christmas... Yes, a friend of mine returned from London one December, and the weather was awfully frightful, so I feared he would not make it, but he brought me the most wonderful present. If I remember correctly, it was a gorgeous navy coat with the prettiest golden buttons one had ever set eyes upon."

The Captain, meanwhile, felt a bit flustered at Thomas' description for, unbeknownst to him, the soldier had seen Thomas dressed in that very same coat only months ago. It may have only been a portrait, but if the Captain had a beating heart, it would most definitely be pounding away in his chest.

"Oh, I remembers him!" Mary piped up, a slight smile on her face, "He was very handsome, but his nose were too big for my likings."  
   From across the room, Humphrey, placed on the coffee table, added, "I remember him as well. Yeah, fetching for as much as I saw. Had an attitude problem though."  
   Robin and Kitty also shared that they had memories of Thomas' friend, but in return his expression grew dark and he pursed his lips and replied.  
   "Well, I heard he died of a fever he contracted," Thomas snapped, "And I'm glad, really. I'd rather we not talk of despicable people at such a merry time of year."

There was a moment of silence before Pat finally said, "So, what about food! What Christmas foods did we all like to eat?"

Thomas took this as an opportunity to leave, and quietly shifted out of the room, but the Captain seemed to be one of the only people to realise this.  
   However, the Captain decided that it was best if he left Thomas for the moment. He worried, of course, and rather hoped that the young man was not going off to "drown" himself again. Instead, he turned his attention back to the group and smiled absently as Pat spoke about the delicious sausage rolls his wife used to make, although he did make a mental note to check up on him later.

 

**********

 

Alison took a step back and grinned at her handiwork. The shelf _may_ have been crooked but at least it would hold.  
   "Looks... great," Mike encouraged, as he entered with two mugs and handed his wife the warm coffee. She took a sip.  
   "It's rubbish, isn't it?"  
   "No, no, not rubbish," he replied, biting his lip slightly, "It's more... Creative choice."  
   "Mike, I'd appreciate it more if you just told me it was shit."  
   "Relax, it's just a shelf."  
   "A shit shelf."

Alison downed her coffee and then placed her empty mug upon the shelf. It stayed for about 3 seconds before sliding off and smashing on the floor while the two millennials silently watched.  
   "Okay, maybe it is a bit shit," Mike admitted, as Alison bent down to pick up the pieces of shattered crockery.

As she stood back up again, Alison chanced to take a glimpse out of the window, and gaped at the sight of dainty snowflakes pressing themselves against the cold glass.

"What are you gawping at?"  
   "Mike, look! I think it's snowing!"

The pair drew close to the window and looked out across the grounds. Snow was slowly starting to settle and Alison turned to squeeze her husband's hand with a wide smile.

"Well, come on, let's go outside!"

It seemed that the ghosts had had the exact same idea, since minutes later Alison was met with a chorus of excitement as she and Mike were putting on their warm jackets in the foyer. Soon, the residents of Button House, both dead and alive, were out upon the front lawn and enjoying the snow fall around them, even if they couldn't feel the cold nor the snowflakes.

Well, not everyone.

The Captain stood in the doorway, looking out as his friends had fun outside. He grinned to himself, but not too much for anyone to notice.  
   Personally, he didn't really like cold weather, or snow for that matter. He far preferred to stay indoors at any given moment during winter, but he wanted to see his friends having fun, so he watched from the threshold, even though he couldn't feel the cold.  
   The Coopers were holding hands and marveling at the sight, and it made the Captain smile to see young love, although he would never admit he was a bit of a romantic. Then, he did a subconscious head-count of his fellow ghosts.

_Yes, there's Pat and Mary, they're having a good time... Oh, Fanny looks disgusted by whatever Julian's saying... I don't think I've ever seen Kitty so happy, nor do I think Robin's figured out that he can't actually catch the snowflakes... There's Humphrey's body... I wonder were his head is... Hang on a moment, where is...?_

The Captain's thought track came to a halt as he realised a certain curly-haired poet was absent.  
   He remembered Thomas quietly slipping away after the discussion of past Christmases and couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. He was the one that had urged Thomas into sharing, leading to the poet's unhappiness. What if Thomas hated him now? What if-

A gentle cough disturbed his thoughts and he looked over his shoulder to see Thomas, who came to stand next to him in the doorway. Speak of the Devil.  
   "Wonderful, is it not?" he sighed, musing at the trickle of snowflakes, "It truly inspires one to write elegant verses."

Thomas looked the Captain up and down. "Why aren't you outside?"  
   The Captain rolled his shoulder's back, his hands clasped behind him. "I never really did enjoy cold weather," he explained simply and the poet nodded.  
   "You must enjoy its beauty, at least. I mean, just look at how the light glints against every drop of snow," Thomas chuckled, but then something above them caught his eye.  
   "Indeed, I must agree with you there. Although I've always found snow to be quite- _mmph!_ "

The Captain had turned his head to look at Thomas, but in doing so, their lips had met, brushing just for a brief second before Thomas leaped back.  
   "Captain! I apologise sincerely! I had meant to plant this kiss upon your cheek, what with the mistletoe hanging above us, but it, uh, seems that you turned at precisely the wrong moment-"  
   "No, no, it's fine... My fault really, I should've realised-"  
   "Oh, but I should've warned you of my intentions! I never meant this to happen."

A lump formed in the Captain's throat. "Let's just forget this happened, shall we?"  
   Thomas hastily agreed, "Yes, let's. I should like to be excused..."

With that, he stepped out into the snow to join his fellow spectres, leaving a mildly confused Captain upon the doorstep.


End file.
